Arsen and Beretta, having held back at the car a second longer, reach us then, keeping their expressions as blank as Ransom’s when they spot Cali—they give others no insight as to where their minds are.

Cali’s spine shoots straight, and she turns away, wiping at her tears, and they scoff, shaking their heads at her.

I grab her hands, gently pulling them down, and she grows uneasy.

“Come on, you can worry about that later. Let’s get going, okay?” I nod, and after a moment, she rolls her eyes at herself and nods back.

We follow them outside, and Beretta gives her the front seat, taking the one beside me.

We’re at the hospital within fifteen minutes

I get ready to climb out, but Cali simply grabs her bag and waits.

“Hey, uh, princess.” Beretta slouches farther in his seat. “The only way that door is getting opened is if you open it yourself.”

Cali glances over her shoulder with a small frown, but when she realizes he was speaking to her and what exactly he had said, her cheeks tint pink.

Arsen swallows a chuckle, laughing when Beretta reaches between the seats and nudges his head.

Cali looks around the car, from them to me. To them.

“Cali...”

She brings her eyes to mine, and I lift my brows.

“Shit, yeah, right. Sorry.” She looks around for the handle and then pushes the door open.

It’s bouncing back, about to smash her legs as she climbs out, but Arsen flies over, catching it before it can, and her quiet, completely embarrassed ‘thanks’ is barely audible.

She doesn’t look back again but waits for me to fall in line beside her. The boys tell me to call them when I’m done, and we head inside.

Jules and Amy’s mom is pacing the hall when we get to the correct floor, and relief washes over her when she notices our arrival.

“Oh, thank god!” She smiles tightly, coming to us.

She grabs both our shoulders but focuses on Cali. “She’ll need you when she wakes up, God knows she won’t care to see me.” Tears fill her eyes, and I look away.

“Do you know what happened?” Cali asks her.

“She drank too much is the simple answer, the rest...” Her eyes dart up, hardening, and when we turn to look, it’s Amy we find.

She cries silently, tucked into the farthest corner, alone, while her twin is fighting for consciousness.

“Let’s wait for her to wake, and just... be here when she does.” She says this more to herself, releasing us and answering her phone as it rings.

An hour or more of silence passes before a doctor comes out to say she’s doing better now, but we still can’t go inside. They’ve had to put her under a seventy-two-hour watch, and she’s not allowed visitors until the time is up.